


Lost In Time

by PixelPunk



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Accidental Time Travel, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awkward Boners, Bisexual Lance, Blow Jobs, Dom/sub Undertones, Emotional Baggage, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Flirty Lance, Frottage, Galaxy Garrison Backstory, Galra Keith is hinted at but never explored, Gay Keith, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Light Bondage, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Memory Loss, Mutual Pining, Porn With Plot, Rejection, Rimming, Science Fiction, Sexual Humor, Slow Burn, Socially Awkward Keith, Temporary Amnesia, Time Travel, Wingmen Hunk and Pidge, the Lions ship it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2019-01-05 01:55:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12180624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PixelPunk/pseuds/PixelPunk
Summary: Keith wakes up in a stranger's bed after going to investigate the strange energy source in the desert, only to find out that he was sent fifty years into the past with no memory of how or why. He was obviously sent for a reason, though, and he's going to find out what that was.It's a lot more difficult when the tall, grinning boy who took him in is always getting under his skin.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> After some research, I decided that since Voltron doesn't canonically have any specified date it takes place in, I would set the timeline (in this story) in around the 2060s, and set the Galaxy Garrison in Arizona. I thought that was realistic enough given humanities' current technological progress.

In that fuzzy, half-conscious state where the brain stands on the edge between awareness and oblivion, Keith registered that the surface he was laying on was way too comfortable to be familiar. Of course, his reflexes were drowsy and stirring, so his body took advantage by snuggling closer to the mattress. This didn’t last long before something clicked, and Keith’s eyes fluttered open, fingers digging into a bed that was NOT his, and sat bolt upright with a strangled gasp, the sudden rush of adrenaline dizzying as his brain screamed _unfamiliar._

He was sitting on a bed that was too soft, too clean, too inviting, in a room that screamed _danger_ in its lack of dirt and grime. A hurried inventory of himself noted that he was in his t-shirt and jeans, but not his jacket or shoes. Even more alarming was the glaring absence of the press of his knife against his hip. His head snapped to his left, and found his missing parts sitting benignly on a homely wooden nightstand, jacket folded with knife resting on top, shoes left on the beige carpet underneath.

Keith scramble to extract his legs tangled in the blue cotton sheets and yanked his shoes on, slipped his knife into its sheath, and pulled on his jacket, sighing in relief at the familiar contours shaping to his body. But, wait, it was too clean. The whites were too white, the reds too bright. It had been washed, removing layers of comforting dust and odor that had clung faintly to the wrinkled fabric. Now it smelled like floral soap, and Keith shuddered. He unsheathed his knife and his eyes darted warily around the room, only taking in the most glaring details, the azure walls smattered with bright posters, mismatched furniture that remained just as neat and cared for.

He didn’t linger, every one of his instinct screaming at him to _get the fuck out of here._ He sprinted to the clean white door and reached for the handle, but before he could grab it, it turned and the door swung lazily open. With blinding, practiced speed, the person who came in was grabbed and slammed against the wall with Keith’s knife pressed to their throat, their shout of protest only faintly registering as he glared with every ounce of venom he had into a pair of shocked blue eyes.

“Where the fuck am I?” he hissed.

“Jesus, man, take it easy! I let you crash in my place for a week and this is how you repay me?” a boyish voice spluttered, indignation and fear making his eyes go even wider. Keith only bore down harder, and the boy struggled uselessly.

“Why am I here? Who took me here?” Keith nearly shouted, his face inches from the stranger’s. “ _And why can’t I remember anything?_ ” His white knuckles gripping the knife shook.

“Calm down, dude, if you don’t shank me I’ll tell you! Christ!”

“Wait…” through the haze of anger, something the guy had said registered in Keith’s brain.

“I was asleep for a _week?_ ”

“Yeah. Well, five days. You were knocked out cold!”

Keith let the hand holding the knife fall away from the stranger. He clapped his other hand to his forehead, trying again to recall _anything_ about how he got here, his thoughts a blurry, jumbled mess. It didn’t help that he felt dizzyingly nauseous. Come to think of it, his whole body felt sore, like he had done a full-body workout the night before.

He had slept for a _week?_

The guy exhaled a sigh of relief and slid out from between Keith and the wall. He looked about Keith’s age, maybe a little younger, even if he was a few inches taller. He was slim, lanky, even, and wearing an army-green jacket and jeans. His skin was tawny and smooth, and he had short, tousled russet hair. Keith watched him, still tensed for a fight, as he strode over to the bed and sat languidly, leaning against the wall and eyeing Keith up and down, grinning with one thin eyebrow raised.

“The name’s Lance. What’s yours?”

Keith ignored the question. “Tell me right the fuck now where I am and how I got here.”

Somewhere in his mind, Keith noticed that the guy was a little bit attractive, in an impish, adolescent sort of way. 

_Fuck. No. Stop it, Keith. Not the time or place to think that._

Lance threw his hands up. “Jeez, dude. You’re pretty grumpy for someone who got the Sleeping Beauty treatment free of charge. You know, I don’t know where you come from, but where I’m from, it’s pretty frowned upon to threaten hospitable strangers with a weird glowing knife.” He seemed peeved, but still laughed it off.

Keith just glared at him until he seemed to realize that Keith wasn’t going to joke around with him.

“Alright, fine, so. You’re in my house, which is here in scenic Lilac Crest, Arizona. This ringing any bells?”

Okay, he had never heard of Lilac Crest, but he was still in Arizona. How far was he?

“How far is it from the Galaxy Garrison?” Keith said, going for the most recognizable landmark to base his location off.

“The what?” He looked genuinely confused.

“Seriously? I thought everyone knew of the Garrison. Prestigious, intergalactic military piloting school?” 

“Well, it sounds cool, but I’ve never heard of it. You go there? That where you live?” Lance leaned forward, looking interested.

Keith looked away, squeezing his knife harder.

“...No. I just live close to it.”

“What town?”

“I… don’t live in a town, just in the desert.”

Lance looked incredulous, but Keith interrupted him before he had a chance to respond.

“Anyway, more importantly, what happened to make you bring me here?” Keith gritted his teeth in frustration when his head throbbed, but refused to sit down next to the stranger. “I don’t… remember anything.” 

“Oh yeah, funny story. Well, weird as hell, but still funny. Me and my roommates Hunk and Pidge were hiking out to the nearby area lookin’ for some kinda rock samples or something like that, they’re into all that science stuff, and I was hanging out with them because Pidge is hilarious to listen to when she starts talking about conspiracy theories, which she always does when it’s three a.m. and had a couple wine coolers on the walk there.” He giggled and leaned his head back like he was remembering something funny. “We were walking around this one huge mountainy area that has a lot of caverns and stuff, and suddenly, there was a weird blue light coming from inside one of them.”

Keith tensed as the rambling story veered into familiar territory. This was sounding like the place he had been investigating, deep in the desert.

“Immediately, Pidge takes off sprinting down there to see what was up, and me and Hunk are on her tail, although she’s so short that she could get through the cave a lot faster, but eventually, the blue light fades away before we could find out what was makin’ it. We all pull our our phone flashlights and keep going, because once Pidge sinks her teeth into something mysterious, she will NOT let go. Then, down where the cave opened up to a huge room, we found you, lying unconscious on the ground.” Lance winked, and Keith scowled at him.

“Hunk freaked the hell out because he thought we had found a dead body, it was hilarious. But Pidge checked your pulse and everything, and she said that you were alive and didn’t seem to have any serious injuries, so we were trying to figure out what you were doing down there and why you were knocked out. At one point Pidge theorized that you were an alien come to ‘integrate with human society’ and the blue light was you transforming into a human disguise. But then Hunk ruined our fun by pointing out that we should probably carry you back and get you help, so we did. And man, you are way heavier than you look!” He laughed easily and prodded Keith with his eyes. Keith crossed his arms and sighed.

“You talk too much. Get on with it already.” Keith said, not thinking about anything other than getting to the bottom of what had happened to him. Lance put his arms behind his head and frowned at Keith’s bluntness, like this wasn’t going how he wanted it to.

“I’m just tryna set the mood. If you have amnesia, wouldn’t you rather get all the juicy details you missed?”

“No. Get to the point.”

“Shh, let me finish my story. So we finally made it back to town with you in tow, and my God, it took forever, because we were pretty far out there. Hunk was carrying you like a sack of potatoes and was all like, ‘We should get this guy to a hospital,’ blah blah blah, but I was like, ‘No way, I have a better idea, we should let him crash here!’ And Hunk was like-”

“Why?”

“Huh?”

“Why did you let me crash here?”

“Oh.” Lance leaned forward on his knees and flashed a smirk, looking Keith straight in the eyes. “I thought you were cute. Even if you do have a terrible haircut.”

Keith gaped. How was he supposed to respond to that? He felt his face heating up, and looked at the ground. He heard Lance laugh.

“Just kidding. Man, you should’ve seen your face. Uh, as long as it didn’t seem like you were actually gonna die, we wanted to ask you what happened when you woke up. By we I mean me and Pidge, who thinks to some degree that you might be an alien. We didn’t expect you to be out for so long. Hunk’s been so anal about it, saying we need to get you to a professional and all, but he just lacks faith in my doctoring skills. Also, er, we’re broke college students, so.”

Lance looked at Keith’s blank expression.

“You still don’t remember anything?”

“...No. I was out… investigating, something, in a place like what you described, and that’s all I can remember.” Keith was suddenly, violently more dizzy than he was before and swayed a little.

“Maybe you should take it easy, dude, you _were_ in a coma for five days. I’m gonna go get Pidge. Don’t go all psycho on her, too.” Lance got up and headed for the door, then paused.

“Wait, you never told me your name.”

Keith hesitated. 

“...Keith.” He couldn’t find any reason to give a fake name, yet, so he hoped he didn’t regret this later. The corner of Lance’s mouth twitched, and he left.

Keith didn’t want to let his guard down in front of people he wasn’t sure he could trust yet, but still sat down, tense, on the edge of the bed, running his fingers along the handle of his knife, trying to think about what could have happened.

He had been investigating that strange energy he felt out there in the desert for months, a foreign pull, guiding him toward something important waiting out there. The pull that was the only thing that kept him grounded and alive ever since- 

_Not now. Don’t think about that._

He remembered venturing deeper than he ever had into the caverns, sketching in a small notepad more detail into those drawings etched onto the walls, when… something happened, and then he woke up here. This was driving him insane. He hated not knowing something so vitally important. He stood up quickly, intending to pace the room, then regretted that immediately when his head protested. The door swung open again and Keith tensed reflexively.

In came Lance, followed by a new stranger, a short, skinny androgynous kid with a mop of sandy hair and glasses, who looked eagerly at Keith with their fingers clasped together. Before Lance could say anything, the kid spoke up.

“Hi! I’m Pidge, it’s nice to finally see you up and around.” Pidge extended her hand to Keith, who switched his knife to the other hand and took it, tentatively. Pidge seemed unbothered by this. She was looking less like someone trying to be friendly and introduce herself and more like someone restlessly waiting to view lab results for an experiment.

“You shouldn’t be standing, don’t strain yourself.” She said and actually pushed Keith, who sat back down onto the bed, mildly shocked. She examined him up and down with an analytical eye, pushing her glasses up her nose.

“Lance told me you don’t remember what happened.”

“Uh, right.”

She crossed her arms over her green t-shirt and pursed her lips, looking pointedly at Lance, who was standing against the dresser. “That’s awfully convenient.”

Keith stared at her. “I’m… not an alien, alright?”

“That’s exactly what an alien would say.”

Keith glowered. “Would both of you take this seriously? I want to know what the fuck happened to me!”

Pidge laughed. Keith didn’t think he was trying to be funny. “Chill, dude, I’m just fucking with you.” She coughed. “Well, partly.”

She leaned in closer, studying Keith’s face, and Keith leaned away, uncomfortable with the sudden proximity.

“How do you feel? I’m not a doctor, but if you can’t remember anything, there’s a strong likelihood that you’ve had some sort of blunt head trauma, and that was what caused you to be unconscious for so long. Does your head hurt?”

Keith nodded, still feeling the dull ache that had subsided slightly when he sat down. With a sudden clarity, he realized he was ravenously hungry. Well, being asleep for five days would do that to a person. He felt weak all over.

“Um, could I get some food?”

Pidge’s eyes widened in alarm. “Oh, shit, you must be starving! I’ll have Hunk whip you up something. Sit tight, I’ll get you some aspirin, too.” She scurried out of the room, shouting, “Hunk!” as the door shut, leaving Keith with Lance again. Lance chuckled.

“You’re in for a treat, man. Hunk’s the best cook I know, he can almost beat my mom’s food. He was saying this whole week that you were gonna die of starvation if you didn’t die from bein’ in a coma without medical treatment. Worrywart, that guy.” Lance rambled on carelessly to fill the silence. He seemed a little on edge about something.

“Um.” Something had been bothering Keith, something he knew vaguely he was supposed to say in a situation like this but hadn’t surfaced yet due to social ineptitude and his short temper.

“Yeah?” said Lance, glancing over at Keith hunched over on the bed.

“...Thanks, for letting me stay here, I guess?” Keith finally said.

Lance looked surprised, but smiled, his eyes lighting up, and Keith couldn’t meet them.

“You’re welcome, dude. I’ll, I’ll leave you to rest a little more before Pidge gets you your stuff.” he said, and was out the door, closing it gently behind him. Keith was desperately antsy to get up and assess the situation at hand more, to escape this unfamiliar room, but his head throbbed and he felt tired and sore all over. 

Keith carefully put his knife back in its sheath and fell over onto his side, body aching, a million unanswered questions swirling in his brain.


	2. Chapter 2

Keith had no idea how he had managed to fall back asleep amidst all that inner turmoil, but when he was shaken back to consciousness by a persistent and pointy hand, he could smell something delicious. The ache in his head was still there, but his body forgot it in order to zero in on the painful cramp in his stomach, and he could only think about eating. He sat up and rolled his neck, focusing on Pidge, who was standing in front of him holding a plate and a bottle. She giggled.

“What?” Keith said, suddenly self-conscious.

“Lance was right, you _do_ look like a kitten when you’re sleeping.”

His brow knit in irritation. Was that supposed to be a joke? 

Pidge was handing him a fork and the plate, which was piled high with what looked like cheesy enchiladas and an open-faced taco, and Keith fought the urge to salivate. He held the plate on his lap and dug in without reservation, almost burning his mouth and getting grease all over his lips. When was the last time he had been treated to food this good? He had been surviving on stolen morsels and convenience store rations for too long, and God knows the Garrison and the orphanage food was no better than the prison food.

When the plate was wiped clean in less than two minutes, Pidge handed him the unmarked white bottle with a slightly incredulous look on her face. 

“You want seconds?”

Keith wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket, handed her the plate, and nodded.

“I’ll get you some water too, you’re probably thirsty.” 

Feeling slightly better and with less of a pressing danger present in his situation, he looked around the room, actually taking in the details he had missed earlier in his hyperfixation on escape. The posters were hung haphazardly with blue painters tape, depicting vintage spaceships and movies that had come out almost a century ago, scenic photographs and paintings of surfing and skateboarding, and odd, colorful cartoons that didn’t make much sense. There was a vintage blue and gold lava lamp on the nightstand, and a large, shimmering fish tank on top of the dresser. The sunlight streaming through the drawn green curtains was slightly dimmer than it was when he woke up earlier, he guessed that it was probably early evening.

Despite the fact that there was no dust, no stains, no dirt or sand encrusted into the floor, there were careless knickknacks strewn about, a blue sweatshirt hanging on the handle of the dresser, and cracks in the wall. The room was lived in. This was somebody’s space that he had inhabited for five days, sleeping tangled in somebody else’s cerulean quilt. Was it Lance’s, or maybe Pidge’s? Or the Hunk that he hadn’t met yet? 

Pidge reentered the room with a pint glass of ice water and a plate full of more food, which he fell upon with almost just as much enthusiasm as before, eating until his stomach protested from the stretch and there was nothing but fork tracks and stray bits of meat left on the plate. He took the water and the forgotten bottle of pills, noting that like everything seemed to be in this house, the bottle looked vintage. He shook two out, made sure from the identification markings that he wasn’t being poisoned, and gulped them down with the water, draining the glass and satisfying the dry feeling that had bothered his tongue.

His needs now sated, he turned to Pidge, who had watched him with an odd expression on her face.

“Thank you.”

“No problem, man. How do you feel now?”

“Better. Uh, bathroom?” he said. Come to think of it, how the hell had he not been pissing and shitting himself in his sleep, even if he hadn’t eaten or drank? This whole situation was fucking bizarre.

“Oh, yeah! Here, follow me.” Pidge motioned toward the door, and Keith followed cautiously as the door opened to a bright hallway.

“Last door on the left.” she said, pointing.

He went down the hallway, still tense in the foreign environment, and took the quickest piss he could in a crumbling but clean bathroom with nautical themed stickers plastered all over the mirror and three toothbrushes in different colored cups by the sink. When he came out, he nearly ran into someone standing outside.

“Whoops, oh my God, you must be Keith!” said a bulky, dark-skinned guy with short black hair and an amicable smile, who stood back to get a better look at Keith and extended his hand. He had a wide, friendly face, the kind that you couldn’t help but trust. Keith shook it and tried his best to arrange his mouth into an almost-smile, or at least an expression that wasn’t openly cranky as he knew his face usually was.

“Hey. Your, uh, food was really good.” Keith always felt awkward trying to give or receive compliments. Hunk was all smiles, though.

“Thanks!” He looked genuinely pleased. “Here, follow me, Lance and Pidge wanted to talk to you in the kitchen.”

He followed Hunk through the hall, past two other doors he presumed were the other bedrooms, and he glanced around warily as they went past a small, shabby living room and into a kitchen where Pidge and Lance were sitting at a breakfast bar talking. They straightened up almost in unison when they saw Keith. Looking around, Keith saw that everything from the kitchen appliances to the lighting was vintage as hell. Was _everything_ in this house? He didn’t think much of it, Lance did say they were broke college students. 

More than that, everything in the house was so… cozy. Had it’s mark of comfortable inhabitance inscribed on everything from the letter-shaped fridge magnets and pictures hanging all over the walls. 

“Hi there, Hungry Hippo. Pidge told me you ate two plates of food in a minute flat.” Lance teased, snickering into his hand.

“I was in a coma for a week.” Keith said, incredulous. And what the hell did ‘Hungry Hippo’ even mean? Keith happened to like hippos, but it was clearly meant to be an insult.

“More importantly, dude, do you think you need to go to a doctor or something? I could give you a ride.” cut in Hunk, who walked around the breakfast bar to set a few wayward dishes by the sink.

“No, I couldn’t. I don’t have any money.” said Keith. 

Lance whistled. “You and us both, bud. Guess I can’t charge ya for so generously lending you my bed while I had to take the couch.” 

Pidge smacked the side of his arm.

“Ow!”

“Don’t listen to him.”

So it was Lance’s bed he slept in. Keith wasn’t sure why the thought made him feel a bit warm.

“Uh… If you can, could you just show me to where you found me? My shack is around there, I’d be able to find it.” Keith said tentatively, his arms crossed over his chest. They seemed like nice enough people, but he was anxious to return to his own devices. 

“Sure, we can go after Hunk finishes the dishes, right Hunk?” Lance said impishly.

“You wanna at least help?”

“Nope.”

Hunk sighed and tied a yellow apron on his large frame, and started scrubbing a huge pan, sleeves rolled up.

“You’d think since I cook most of the time I should get to be immune from the dishes.”

“But you _like_ cooking, so it doesn’t count.” Pidge piped up, leaning on one arm on the counter.

“Oy, Keith. You want a drink? We have beer.” said Lance, opening up the crappy fridge.

“No thanks.” said Keith uncomfortably. He had virtually zero experience with drinking, having never had the luxury of extra funds for such indulgences.

“Oh come on, you’re here, I’m offering you free alcohol, we should have a little fun. Wait, how old are you? I won’t judge you if you’re underage, I’m just curious.” 

“22.”

Lance, for some reason, looked gleeful.

“Really? I thought for sure you were 18, you’re almost as short as Pidge.”

“I am literally two inches shorter than you.” Keith retorted.

“Hm, coulda fooled me. Hey, while you’re here, you want me to give you a haircut? I worked at Sports Clips once, consider it a charity case.”

Keith narrowed his eyes. This guy was starting to get on his nerves.

“What the hell is so wrong with my hair?”

“I mean, nothing, if you were going for 80’s mullet meets emo anime sadboy.” ribbed Lance, putting one hand on his hip and miming flipping hair over his shoulder.

“I don’t even know what that’s supposed to mean!” Keith uncrossed his arms, getting ready to throw hands with this fucker, hospitality be damned.

“ _Lance._ ” Pidge interjected. She turned to Keith. “Ignore him, this is how he acts around all the guys he likes. He’s not actively trying to be a dick.”

Keith’s brow knit in confusion. 

_‘Guys he likes?’_

Lance pouted, actually pouted, like a kid, and looked chagrined, burying his face in the still-open fridge. He pulled two beers out of the fridge and cracked them open with long fingers, a smirk on his handsome face. He slid one across the counter to Pidge. She seemed to notice Keith’s one raised eyebrow as he looked at her.

“Before you ask, buddy, I’m 19.”

“Really?”

“I know, right? I thought she was a twelve-year-old when we first met.” piped in Hunk, chuckling good-naturedly at the sink.

She sighed with the air of someone who had been through this conversation many, many times. Keith had to admit, he wouldn’t have been surprised if she had turned out to be twelve. He had seen his fair share of twelve-year-olds drinking from his time in the orphanage.

Suddenly, Keith spotted something familiar lying on the counter on top of a stack of paper.

“Hey, that’s my notebook!” Keith exclaimed, having completely forgotten about it in the confusion. He snatched it up and rifled through the pages, making sure everything was still in tact, from the notes to the drawings. He turned to Lance and Pidge still sitting at the bar. 

“What the fuck were you doing with it? You didn’t read it, did you?” he seethed, the question directed mostly at Lance, as he had proven himself to be the least trustworthy of the lot.

“Well, yeah.” Lance threw up his hands in defense when Keith gained on him. “We had to! You were a total stranger, we had to see if you had any contact information or anything on you!”

Keith stormed over and violently pushed Pidge aside, who fell onto the ground with a shocked yelp, and grabbed Lance by the collar, pulling him off the barstool and fuming, his teeth gritted. Hunk started and dropped the dish he was washing into the sink at the noise, splashing soapy water everywhere.

Lance struggled, moving to throw a punch. Keith dodged it easily and was about to retaliate with a right hook when Pidge hopped off the ground and scrambled to yank Keith away from Lance, who stumbled and nearly fell over, but was caught and steadied by the still-wet hands of Hunk, who looked extremely apprehensive at this turn of events.

“Man, you need to calm the fuck down.” said Pidge sternly, pushing her finger into Keith’s chest without a trace of fear in her small face despite Keith’s furious expression.

“Anyone ever tell you you’ve got serious anger management issues? It’s not like there was even anything important in there! Just a bunch of science fiction and conspiracy theory stuff, and some doodles that weren’t even that good.” quipped Lance bitterly.

Pidge just looked at Keith with a weird, contemplative expression on her face, like something just clicked into place and the cogs had started turning.

Keith bristled, and looked away, crossing his arms and saying nothing. 

“Come on, can’t we get just get along here?” pleaded Hunk. “Lance just wanted to ink your little sketches.”

“Huh?” said Keith. He looked at the paper that the notebook had rested on. It was a pile of drawings.

He picked them up and flipped through them. They were… beautiful. He felt weird using that word to describe them, because he knew literally nothing about art, but these drawings objectively _were._ The artist had taken Keith’s scrawled, scratchy depictions of the cave murals and transformed them into pictures that nearly felt alive with smooth swirls of blue ink. _Lance_ had drawn these?

He looked up with his mouth hanging open, to see Lance staring at his face, his eyebrows knit together, looking… nervous? 

“Don’t take it personally, I just like drawing, alright?” Lance said, defensively.

Keith felt a familiar sense of “I fucked up,” a guilty twinge of embarrassment for flipping shit that he got sometimes after losing his temper unnecessarily. Well, not unnecessarily, he reasoned, he had every reason to protect the contents of his investigation. But did it matter if these guys had seen his notebook if they had no idea what it even meant? They really seemed like a bunch of average kids who just so happened to pick him up and let him stay for a bit. Hunk had cooked him food, Pidge had given him aspirin, Lance had let him sleep in his bed. And now this.

“These are. Um. Good.” said Keith quietly, setting them down carefully on the counter. His face felt hot, he knew his cheeks were red. 

Lance’s mouth fell open a little, he looked dumbstruck. And- flustered, maybe? He looked away, rubbing at the back of his neck with one hand.

“Thanks.” he gave a pleased little smile, and Keith felt his chest constrict.

~ ~ ~

Fifteen minutes, a drink, and a sink full of dishes later, Keith was following the laughing trio of friends as they traipsed carelessly across the rocky ground and into the muggy, dry night air. The sun had only just set, leaving the sky still just golden enough that he could see Lance shooting sly smirks at him over his shoulder, trying to get him to laugh at his jokes.

Keith only shoved his hands deeper in his pockets. It was nice, being in their company. It was something he hadn’t felt in an incredibly long time, the sense of camaraderie, even if he was the odd man out.

“Do you know where you’re going?” he asked, directed at Pidge, who was leading the group.

“Yep. Well, somewhat. Hunk, was this the right way?”

“I think so. It was that hill over there.” he said, pointing far into the horizon. 

“Hunk’s got a photographic memory. He’s the only one who keeps us from getting lost most of the time.” said Lance proudly, elbowing Hunk in the gut. 

“How many times do I have to tell you, photographic memories are a myth, I just studied memory encoding techniques and-”

“Don’t bore our guest with science talk!”

“We’re not in our house, so technically he’s not a _guest_ anymore.” said Pidge.

Lance slowed down his pace so that he was walking side-by-side with Keith and elbowed him gently in the ribs.

“Does that mean I have permission to make fun of you for having a mullet and for being a conspiracy theorist?” he teased.

Keith rolled his eyes and kept his mouth shut. This guy was not only immature, but also obnoxious, even if he was a little bit attractive. 

He wasn’t even Keith’s type, anyway, he was too skinny, not tall and strong like-

_Stop it._

He winced and shook the thought out of his head, looking toward the distance. He wondered if his absence was going to get him fired from the convenience store. Probably. He’d have to go looking for another job that could keep him fed and keep gas in his bike.

His bike. Oh, shit.

Keith stopped abruptly in his tracks, making the others turn to look at him.

“Did you guys see a bike by the cave entrance when you found me? Bright red, latest model?”

“Uh, no?” said Pidge.

“Are you sure?”

“I didn’t see anything.” said Hunk.

_Mother of fuck, if the guy with photographic memory says he didn’t see it, then he really didn’t see it._

“D’you think it got stolen?” said Lance.

“Couldn’t have, the key is still in my pocket.” Keith reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled it out, dangling it in front of his face.

Pidge squinted at it, pushing her glasses up her nose. “That’s a pretty weird-looking key…”

Keith shrugged. These guys had probably never seen a bike like his up close. Hell, he hadn’t before he stole it, that thing was worth more than his entire life.

Which means he was going to be fucking pissed if it was gone.

Pidge kept shooting him weird looks.

“Hey, Keith, can I see your phone real quick?” said Lance.

“Don’t have one.”

All three of them stopped in their tracks.

“You don’t have a _phone?_ ” gasped Lance, horrified. “I’m so sorry, oh my God. Are you, like, okay?”

Keith shrugged. “I already told you I don’t have money. I’ve never had one, s’not a big deal.”

Even Pidge and Hunk looked stricken.

“No wonder we found you on the verge of death in the middle of the desert, jesus christ.” said Pidge.

Hunk reached over and patted him on the back. “I’ve never felt more pity for you than in this moment, buddy.”

Keith turned to Lance.

“Why did you want to see my phone in the first place?”

Lance looked away, laughed nervously, and jammed his hands into his pockets.

“Oh, nothing.. I just thought, y’know, I could give you my- our, numbers, and we could hang out sometime. Uh, all of us.”

Keith raised one eyebrow, and Pidge snorted. Lance conveniently sped up his pace on his longer legs, putting some distance between him and Keith.

“You live close enough, we could drop by and visit sometime. Jeez, how do you live so isolated from the world?” said Hunk.

Keith didn’t answer, didn’t say that he prefered it that way, away from all the memories that haunted him and toward that mysterious thing that beckoned deeper and deeper into the desert. He kicked a small rock with more force than he intended and it rocketed straight into the ass of Lance.

“Ow, jesus!”

Whoops.

“Ha… sorry. Accident.” 

Lance tried to look angry, but when Hunk and Pidge dissolved into giggles, he settled on turning around and walking faster. Keith couldn’t help it, he laughed softly under his breath. Hunk and Pidge turned to stare at him with wonder in their eyes.

“Even you can laugh, Mr. Grumpy Gills?” said Pidge. “Hey, you’re missing out on Keith being cute over here!” she shouted at Lance, whose shoulders noticeably stiffened.

“Wha- _Cute?_ ” Keith spluttered in shock, the word foreign on his tongue.

“Yeah, cute. Like a fuckin’ baby kitten cute. Surely somebody has informed you of this. Lance said earlier that-”

“ALRIGHT PIDGE, THANK YOU FOR YOUR INPUT.”

“What the fuck. I am not _cute._ ” Keith grumbled, feeling his face flush red-hot. 

He had never been called cute once in his entire life, not even something remotely close. The variety of adjectives he had heard people use to describe him were usually more along the lines of “troublemaker” or “asshole.” He knew he wasn’t ugly, per say, but no one had ever complimented his looks, either. So where the fuck did “cute” come from?

“Nope, you’re adorable.” said Hunk matter-of-factly.

“I’m going to stab the next person that calls me cute.” said Keith.

“Laaaaance, any input on our current conversation topic?” Pidge trilled pointedly.

“Piss off.”

Pidge moved in close to stage-whisper in Keith’s ear. “Just to let you know, Lance wanted to let you stay at our place because _he_ thought you were cute.”

Keith tensed up in shock, the hot blush flaring up again, no doubt coloring his entire face red, and it wasn’t dark enough to give him any cover. Pidge waggled her eyebrows at him and smirked, giggling at his expression.

“Cute.”

“Hey, what is she telling you? Don’t believe anything she says, she’s a dirty fucking liar!” said Lance, sounding panicked. Pidge squealed and dodged when Lance tried to grab her, laughing maniacally. 

“Hate to break this up, but we’re almost there. Is any of this looking familiar to you, buddy?” said Hunk, smiling softly. 

Keith had completely forgotten about why they were out there. They were approaching one of the many rolling hills, covered in craggy bush, with a crumbling mouth marking the entrance to the cave. Keith looked for any sign of his bike. Nothing.

“Yeah, I- I think this is it.” He lifted one hand to rub at his forehead, his head starting to throb again for some reason. It was weird, he didn’t remember there being vegetation around this area before, and wasn’t the hole bigger before?

“You sure you left your bike around here?” said Lance, looking aimlessly around. It was starting to get a little hard to see in the dark.

“Yes!” he snapped, a little sharper than he intended. He peered into the cave, squinting, looking for any sort of clue, but what he saw made him stop short.

“What in the fuck…?” he said under his breath, and forgetting entirely about the three standing behind him, sprinted into the cave.

“Hey, wait-!”

He stumbled in the dark, nearly face-planting, and whirled around, straining to look at the rock walls. There was enough light from the entrance to see.

Nothing. There was no trace of the drawings that he had so painstakingly examined and redrawn, hung up on his walls, pored over and interpreted. He touched the warm earth, with one hand, mind reeling. Suddenly, a detail that he had somehow completely overlooked flew into the forefront of his thoughts.

“Yo, what the hell are you doing?” Pidge’s voice broke through his trance. He didn’t look over at her, still staring at his own hand pressed to the wall.

“Hunk. Does this cave look the same as when you guys found me?”

“Huh? Well, yeah?”

“And you’re _sure_ that this is the cave you found me in?”

“Keith, what’s going on?” cut in Lance, sounding just as confused as Hunk.

“I- I don’t know.” he mumbled, the pain in his head escalating from a dull throb to a piercing ache. He swayed, fighting the urge to vomit. Now was _not_ the time to get sick, fucking dammit.

“You okay, man? You look like you’re about to upchuck.” came Hunk’s concerned voice. Keith started, shook his head, and pushed his way past him. He stumbled out of the cave and into the muggy night, holding himself up against the rock with a trembling arm. The others followed, concerned and confused in equal measure.

“Keith? Keith, dude? You alright?” Another concerned voice, Lance’s, it was close, too close, his head swam. He felt a hand on his shoulder, he slapped it away, but everything felt too slow. 

His knees buckled, and he was unconscious before his head hit the hot, hard ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why, but I really liked the idea of Hunk having an exceptionally good memory, considering he is widely mischaracterized by the fandom as being dumb, when he's clearly a smart guy. He's an engineer, for fuck's sake. 
> 
> Also, I promise I won't be ending every chapter with Keith passing out.


	3. Chapter 3

Keith heard worried voices talking above him. The voices were hushed, but still loud enough that he stirred slightly. He felt that he was lying on the hot, rocky ground with something soft shoved under his head like a pillow. His arms were bare. His jacket? His head throbbed.

“If he keeps passing out, we’ve got no choice but to take him to the hospital. What if there’s something actually wrong with his head? I mean, he was acting like it.”

“But we’re already invested in his well-being, so there’s no point trying to back out of this now, Hunk.”

“That’s what I’m saying! I can’t have accidental murder on my conscious, Lance!”

“Shut up, he’s fine. Look how peaceful he looks.”

“We can’t take him anywhere. I have a few questions when he comes to.”

“About what, Pidge?”

“Oh, nothing.”

Keith felt a bright light flash on his closed eyelids, and his face reflexively scrunched, bringing one hand up to shield his eyes. He rolled onto his side and groaned. 

“Shh, he’s waking up!”

The light moved so that it wasn’t bearing down directly on Keith’s eyes, and he opened them slowly to see Lance, Hunk, and Pidge standing over him. It was completely dark out now, with a bright full moon illuminating their silhouettes. Pidge was holding what looked like a phone, with a piercing light shining out of it. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, feeling surprisingly clear-headed.

“Thank God. You okay, man?” said Lance, squatting down next to him. 

“I’m fine.” Keith pushed himself off the ground, grabbing his jacket, and dusted off the pebbles and sand that stuck to his faded black t-shirt.

Hunk looked relieved. Pidge’s lips were pursed contemplatively, and she returned to her device to turn the light off.

“Is that… your phone?” Keith said, so quietly it was almost a murmur.

“Yeah?”

“It’s old.” he said, mostly to himself. Another thing he had overlooked, dismissed it as nothing important. “Everything’s old.”

Hunk and Lance exchanged a look, looking completely flummoxed at Keith’s nonsensical muttering. Pidge pushed her glasses up her nose and crossed her arms.

“Let’s go.”

Hunk and Lance turned to stare at her. “Huh?”

“Let’s get Keith home. You’re fine, right? So, let’s go find your place.” she said. “Lead the way.”

Keith stared at her for a moment, then walked to stand at the front of the party, suddenly feeling an intense desire to see his shack with his own two eyes. He needed… he needed to confirm something, to quash a certain sickly dread in his gut.

Hunk and Lance still looked totally confused, but at Keith’s blazing expression, shrugged and followed his purposeful steps into the night alongside Pidge, who continued to be uncharacteristically quiet as they walked. Hunk and Lance chattered quietly about nothing important, and Lance still sent little nudges Keith’s way, trying to get him to join the conversation, but he was just as silent as Pidge, eyes fixated on the dark horizon.

It had been about 20 minutes, more or less, and Keith stopped dead in his tracks. The two hills that normally stood on either side of his shack had come into view, and between them…

Was nothing more than a flat expanse of sand.

Keith stared. And stared. The absence of his shitty little wooden hut might as well have been a black hole for how glaringly it imprinted itself onto Keith. That sinking, irrational dread in the pit of his stomach reared its ugly head.

Lance nudged his side with his elbow, having noticed Keith’s slack-jawed, blank staring into nothingness. He started at the contact, but didn’t turn away.

It was Pidge who broke the silence.

“That’s where it was, wasn’t it? Your house.” she said frankly.

“Yeah.” he finally admitted. “What the fuck is going on?”

“Isn’t it obvious at this point?”

The three of them stared at her in confusion, Keith with a certain uneasy hope that she wouldn’t say what he thought she was going to say.

“Keith, you’re probably not… from around here, if you catch my drift.” she said, in a voice rife with implication.

“What are you even saying?” Hunk said.

“Pidge.” Keith spoke slowly. “Pidge, what year is it?”

She looked at him for a long moment, the moonlight glaring off the lenses of her glasses and making it impossible to see her eyes.

“It’s 2017.”

Keith swayed. His mind skipped past confusion straight to anger.

“You’re fucking with me. Don’t fuck with me.”

“As of this moment, I’m not, buddy.” she countered levelly. 

“I’m sorry, but what in the name of Obama’s left ass cheek are we talking about right now?” Lance said impatiently, sick of not being included in their two-sided conversation.

“Yeah, I’m lost too.” piped in Hunk, wringing his hands.

Pidge turned on the spot, hands planted on her hips.

“In what fucking context would someone ever ask the question ‘What year is it?’”

“That’s like, every time travel movie’s… Oh. Oh, my God.” Lance said, eyes widening perceptibly as he caught on.

“You’re not saying-? Keith?” said Hunk, brows knit.

Pidge turned back to him.

“Well? What year was it when you went into that cave?” she pressed.

Keith looked at her, eyes wild and disbelieving.

“2067.”

There was a loaded pause.

“Haha, Keith, I didn’t know you could make jokes!” The forcefully cheerful voice of Lance broke the tense moment.

“Why the fuck would I joke about something like this?” he seethed, his inner turmoil making him lash out.

“C’mon, you can’t possibly be serious, dude.” said Hunk, visibly apprehensive of Keith’s building temper.

“I _am_ fucking serious! Deadly fucking serious! I don’t know what the _fuck_ is happening, but here I am, fifty years in the fucking past with no idea how or why!” he shouted, throwing his arms out in a wild gesticulation toward where his shack should be.

“Uh, listen man, I’m no expert, but I’m pretty sure this ain’t possible.” countered Lance in disbelief, crossing his arms over his chest.

Hunk reached over to pat him on the shoulder, and Keith violently slapped his hand away before it could make contact. He laughed nervously at Keith’s murderous glare.

“Look, you were basically in a coma for a week, you’re probably confused about-”

“I believe him.”

All three of them turned to look at Pidge, one hand resting on her hip and the other adjusting her glasses. She was completely calm, smiling slightly and eyes bright. She didn’t even look surprised.

“What?” sputtered Hunk. “Surely you-”

“Come on, guys, haven’t you noticed how fuckin’ weird everything has been with him? I suspected it from the moment I read what was in that notebook. Hell, maybe even before that.” She turned to look at Keith. “That’s what’s the source of this, right? That’s why you flipped shit when you found out we read it?”

Keith shifted restlessly in place, hands curled into fists.

“…Maybe, I don’t know.”

“This is insane. This is absolutely insane. I can’t even comprehend that this is happening right now.” Hunk said, starting to pace back and forth.

“Yeah, insanely cool!” said Lance enthusiastically. Keith gave him the most indignant look he could muster. Did this guy take _anything_ seriously?

“What? It is. You have to admit it is.” Lance defended, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“What, just like that, now you believe me?” Keith snapped.

“I trust Pidge.” There was a pause where he blatantly rethought his words. “I take that back, Jesus Christ. Don’t put that on record. But I _do_ trust her when it comes to anything about, y’know, science stuff. I mean, she's a total genius. This fits in that category, right?”

“This isn’t about _science,_ it’s about you guys losing all grip on reality right now!” Hunk said, exasperated. He sent an apologetic look at Keith. “Look, it’s just way more likely that your heads all mixed up than time-travel suddenly being possible.”

“Huh, well, Hunk may have a point.” Lance said thoughtfully.

“I do _not_ have brain damage!” shouted Keith. The rational part of his brain, banished to the corner whenever his temper flared, noted that this wasn’t exactly a good argument considering he’s passed out twice in front of these guys.

“Mother Theresa fucking an eggplant, am I the _only_ one who noticed Keith’s _key_?” Pidge interrupted. She marched determinedly over to Keith and held out one hand. 

Keith fished the key to his bike out of his back pocket, but didn’t give it to her, instead dangling it from his fingers so the other two could get a solid look in the streaming moonlight. She just rolled her eyes and pointed to it.

“I mean, look at it! Have either of you ever seen a key that looks this weird before? This is the most solid piece of evidence we have next to the shit about glowing desert energy in his notebook.” She was pacing, getting herself worked up. “Not to mention, isn’t it peculiar how Keith fainted when we brought him back to the same location we found him? That’s pretty indicative that there might be something going on here.”

Lance was studying Keith’s key curiously. “Come to think of it, that key _is_ super weird-lookin’. What kind of bike do ya even own?”

Keith blinked. How the hell had this not somehow come up in the conversation before? “It’s- It’s a hoverbike. A 2065 Deimos firebolt.”

Lance threw his arms up. “Yo!”

Pidge inspected the key closely. “Look, guys, it’s even _engraved_ on it. Evidence, right here.”

Hunk’s small eyes squinted, trying to read the tiny letters etched on the metal. “Woah. Holy crap.”

Pidge bounced excitedly on the balls of her sneakered feet, hair flopping with the movement.

“Keith, I’d bet on Lance’s micropenis that whatever you found in that cave was what sent you back in time, and that’s what caused that weird blue light!” 

“On Lance’s _what now_?” Hunk interrupted, giggling hysterically. 

“Ok, wow, take that back before I kick your ass, little gremlin!” Lance yelled, immediately squaring up. Pidge just dismissed him with a wave of her hand.

“Whatever. The important thing is that we need to plan a course of investigative action.” she said animatedly. Lance perked up suddenly.

“Oh, hey, Keith, if your house is however-many years in the past, you’ll need a place to stay, right?” He made a show of running his hand through his hair and winking. “I suppose we can manage to shack you up for a bit longer, out of the kindness of our hearts, right guys?”

“Mm, yeah, but mostly because I’m gonna need to run a few tests on you. On a totally unrelated note, what’s your blood type?” asked Pidge thoughtfully, tapping one finger to her chin.

“Pidge, you’re scaring him.” Hunk reprimanded.

“No?” Keith said.

“Sh, it’s okay, mullet, she scares us constantly too.” Lance said mockingly. He made to reach out and grab his shoulder but Keith stepped back and lifted his arm in warning.

“Don’t touch me.”

“It’s too late for this... Do you guys wanna at least head back before we get shived by a wandering troupe of escaped prisoners or something?” said Hunk, yawning and rubbing a hand across his forehead.

“Good idea, Hunk.” Lance said.

“We’re gonna need to bring out the whiteboard. Hunk, make cookies when you get back. Snacks are required for an enigma this pressing.” Pidge said, walking to lead the group back in the direction they came from.

“For the time being, Keith, you can crash on the couch, if you don’t mind?” Hunk said kindly.

He jammed his hands in his pockets and looked down at his boots as they walked.

“Yeah, that’s fine. Thanks.” At least he wouldn’t be in Lance’s bed anymore, a thought that Lance seemed to share.

~ ~ ~

“Are we thinking peanut butter or snickerdoodles?” called Hunk from the kitchen as the other three sat in the living room. Keith glanced at the display on the old-ass TV setup, which revealed that it was 9:47. He wondered how his mind had glossed over all the old technology in the house earlier, dismissing it as nothing. They actually had a DVD player, something Keith had never even seen in person.

The shock of what had happened hadn’t fully been processed in his mind, yet Pidge and Lance seemed wholeheartedly and enthusiastically invested, with Hunk following in suit. In fact, Pidge was acting like she had been waiting her whole life for such a moment to spring upon. She had run into the house and immediately wheeled a giant standing whiteboard, like the kind that used to be used in classrooms, from her room into the living room, heaving a bit from the considerable effort. The thing was almost twice her height. She erased a bunch of what looked like math equations with the magnetic eraser, leaving it blank and ready.

Lance shouted “Snickerdoodle!” at the same time that Pidge said, “Peanut butter!”, and they locked eyes for a moment before turning to Keith.

“You be the tiebreaker.” said Pidge solemnly.

Keith sighed.

“…Snickerdoodles.” he replied reluctantly.

“Whoo!” Lance threw up his arms in victory, while Pidge crossed hers over her chest and sulked.

“Maybe you’re not so bad, mullet.” He waggled his eyebrows and shouted toward the kitchen. “Hunk, one order of snickerdoodles, please?”

“Coming right up.” He tied an orange headband around his forehead and whistled.

“And here I thought we’d be cool, Keith. Peanut butter is clearly the superior cookie flavor.” Pidge whined, leaning back and propping her feet on the tarnished coffee table, only barely avoiding spilling one of the coffee cups. Since they had arrived back at the house (which, Keith observed, looked far smaller on the outside,) Pidge had informed him that it was currently a Saturday, which was why none of them had classes at the moment. Keith shrugged.

“Nothing against peanut butter. I just like cinnamon.”

“Damn straight!” whooped Lance, taking a long gulp of coffee from a blue polka-dot mug. He took a look at Keith’s cup and shuddered pointedly, making an audible “Ugh” noise when he observed the black liquid inside.

“How many times are you going to ridicule me for what kind of coffee I like?” Keith said in response, picking at his already cracked and battered nails.

“Until you see the frickin’ light, man. Black coffee tastes like battery acid! Even if you don’t like it sweet, you could at least add milk or something! I don’t know why anyone would subject themselves to that.” he rambled heatedly. Keith rolled his eyes.

“It’s coffee. Made to caffeinate you, not to taste good. Besides, I like it bitter.” Keith said, picking his up and gulping some down, trying not to burn the roof of his mouth while staring him down. Lance winced dramatically. 

Pidge, who had added three spoonfuls of sugar and no milk to hers then chugged two mugs in a row, got up to presumably fill her mug again. Keith was no expert, but a girl that tiny ingesting that much caffeine at once could not be healthy. Lance’s coffee was hardly even coffee with how much creamer he had put in, and yet he was somehow even more animated than before after just a few sips.

Keith was tired. Not the kind of tired that could be solved by chugging coffee, but the kind of tired where he had completely lost control over his life in such a short amount of time, his entire worldview shattered and new rules for what was possible and impossible having to be rewritten. Honestly, it would have been a better idea to just go to bed and reset his thoughts than stay up conspiring with these guys, but they all seemed to be content staying up, what with their working electricity and all. Keith had always been forced to retire not long after it got dark out…

“Keith? Keeeeith, buddy?” Lance was saying, waving his hand obnoxiously in front of his face. Keith blinked and looked up from his contemplative grip on the mug. Pidge had returned, and was now standing in front of the whiteboard with the air of a C.E.O. leading a network meeting, brandishing a green marker. Well, if a C.E.O. had to stand on a footstool. She wrote, “KEITH: A MYSTERY IN TIME TRAVEL” across the top in a neat scrawl. Underneath, she wrote on the left side, “What we know:” and underlined it, then turned to her audience.

“Okay, boys, we need to start with detailing the information we currently have, then get to questions, hypotheses, and clues later. Let’s start with what we know right now and make a list.” she said eagerly, her light brown eyes bright with vigor. Her words were strictly business, but she spoke with an unashamed childlike enthusiasm that made her look even more like a kid than she already did.

“We know Keith traveled 50 years from the future.” chimed in Lance, his knees bouncing rhythmically, shaking the coffee table. Pidge nodded and wrote it down, making a bulleted list.

“And that there was a glowing blue light around where Keith appeared.” she added. “Keith, in the interest of finding out what happened here, you’re gonna need to tell us exactly the nature of what’s in your notebook. I could guess the general gist, but we gotta know specifics.” 

Keith stirred in his seat, crossing his arms and staring at his feet. As much as he wanted to keep this his secret alone, she had a point.

_Fuck it._

“I’ve been living in my shack for four years investigating a strange energy source somewhere in the desert. I- I don’t know how to describe it, but it’s like… something was beckoning me to keep looking. Like a sixth sense or something. I found those cave drawings and did a lot of research, and they seemed to be predicting, or retelling, something important. About something extraterrestrial hidden there.” he explained, Pidge and Lance listening intently. “If only I had access to it, my house, all my research is laid out in detail on my wall, but for now, all we have is this.” 

He lifted his notebook.

“Man, no wonder you were all secretive about it!” laughed Lance. “I just thought those drawings were some kind of doodle, and the notes were you being a paranoid weirdo.” 

Keith just glared at the obvious provocations, trying to ignore him and the lazy way his jeans shifted over his long legs. 

“Yeah, I kinda suspected something along those lines.” Pidge said, then giggled. “Lance was more interested in showing off his art skills to pay attention to what you wrote.”

“I think I did a damn fine job, thanks!” Lance puffed his chest defensively. Keith scoffed.

“Hey, don’t think I forgot how you complimented me.” he goaded, smirking in Keith’s direction and rubbing his pointy chin.

“Yeah, and now I regret it.” Keith deadpanned.

“Whatever, you totally acknowledged that I have talent.”

Keith huffed and turned away, refusing to give Lance the satisfaction of acknowledging his existence anymore. He could be alright sometimes, but he was also an arrogant fucking tool.

Lance stretched and shed his jacket, revealing a light blue muscle tank. With that, Keith failed miserably at his strategy of ignoring him. Lance was… not as skinny as he looked under that jacket. His arms were toned and had well-defined, ropey muscles moving and flexing under his tanned skin. He put his hands behind his head, and Keith noticed the lack of under-arm hair. Did he shave it? He wondered if Lance had abs, his shirt was too loose to tell. The arm holes dangled loose down to his ribs, where Keith caught a glimpse of cobalt blue ink. He wanted to look closer to see what kind of tattoo Lance would have, but he looked away, shuddering internally at the thought of getting caught ogling him. At the whiteboard, Pidge was nodding.

“Right. So, you went to the cave, to-?” she trailed off.

“Draw the cave murals again. I did it over and over, trying to memorize them and see if there were any patterns. The drawings in that notebook are 100 percent accurate. I could never find any translation for the weird symbols.”

“So you think those are writing?” Pidge said eagerly, bright-eyed and leaning toward Keith. “If there are no translations that you could find, do you think they’re alien in nature?”

“I guess it’s possible.”

“Snickerdoodles are done!” called Hunk and making Keith jump a little. He walked proudly into the living room with a huge plate of cookies that smelled strongly of sweet cinnamon. Lance and Pidge cheered enthusiastically, moving the coffee on the table to make room. Hunk retreated to the kitchen for a moment while they grabbed warm cookies to chow down, returning a minute later dunking a tea bag in yellow mug covered in paw prints. He plopped down on the couch next to Lance, smiling happily at the sight of Pidge and Lance eating with gusto. Keith hurriedly took a small bite of his, wanting to show his thanks. It was delicious, and he felt his insides warm at the food clearly made with care.

“Fantastic work as always, Hunk.” Lance complimented him easily, slapping his shoulder and reaching for a third. He ate eagerly, but he was surprisingly neat. Pidge was nibbling hers and grunted in agreement, seemingly not caring about the crumbs and sugar all over her mouth. Hunk grinned, taking a sip of his tea.

“I tried adding more butter this time, to make them more moist. Think this recipe’s a keeper?” he said.

“Ugh, did you have to use the word _moist_?” Lance whined. The other two ignored him.

“Oh, fuck yeah, dude.” Pidge was happily dunking one in her coffee. “Do that next time you make peanut butter cookies and you’re cordially invited to marry my first-born.”

“You’re not even having kids, so that’s a crappy reward.” Hunk said.

“Fair point.”

Lance looked past Hunk and his happy blue eyes landed on Keith, who was quietly stuffing his face with cookies, one after another. He wondered if he was being impolite, but years of conditioning meant that he couldn’t stop eating if he tried. Too many years of not having enough to eat, or having it taken away if he took too long. A wide grin lit up on Lance’s face and Keith paused with his cheeks stuffed. Fuck, why were his teeth so perfectly white and straight?

“Look, guys, anything that can get Keith to smile like that I’d consider a victory!” Lance said gleefully. They all turned to look at him, and he swallowed painfully, feeling himself turning red with guilt and embarrassment. Lance’s face fell when he met Keith’s eyes, his smile fading into a confused frown.

Hunk reached over and nudged his shoulder, making Keith flinch. He hoped none of them noticed that, he didn’t need them thinking he was fragile.

“I’m glad you like them, dude!” Hunk encouraged, offering him a smile. “You can have as many as you want, you know. I have two more batches in the kitchen.”

“Okay. Thanks.” Keith said, the corner of his mouth twitching up at Hunk. He refused to look at Lance. “So, uh, where were we? With the list?”

Pidge was studying him intensely with her head cocked to one side. When he looked up, she shoved the remains of her cookie into her mouth and turned to the board, uncapping her marker.

“Right. The task at hand.” Lance straightened his spine and pulled his face into some pseudo-serious look that did not suit him.

“Dude, you look constipated.” Hunk said, chortling.

“Shut up!” he hissed.

“Here’s what we know thus far.” said Pidge, gesticulating animatedly toward the list. “We know that Keith has somehow travelled from 50 years in the future, and that he has a patchy memory of how this happened, but that a blue light was involved somehow. We know the location of the cave that he was in when it happened. We know that Keith had been investigating a mysterious energy source calling to him from the desert, and that the guilty cave was home to many cave murals depicting something supernatural in nature, and there’s a strong likelihood that this extraterrestrial force is what has caused a rift in the fabric of space-time.” she rattled off, taking a deep breath when she finished.

“Any questions or additions?” She paused. “Hunk? Anything to add?”

“You should add that Keith passed out for a week or possibly longer ‘cause of the time-travelling, and that going back to the scene yielded similar but less serious results. There’s a good chance that Keith’s head trauma is tied to the cause of the problem.” Hunk said, munching on a cookie as he talked.

“Or, in other words, Keith keels over whenever he’s in that cave?” Lance said, clearly uninterested with their technical speak. He was inspecting his nails, which Keith noticed were smooth and immaculate. Of course.

“I thought you didn’t believe that I time-traveled?” Keith asked Hunk.

“I never said I didn’t believe you, just that there was a possibility that you might be, y’know, loopy. But look at all this. Extraordinary things happen, this might be one of those times, looks like.” Hunk said cheerfully.

“Except normally your definition of ‘extraordinary’ is when you meow and the cat meows back.” said Pidge.

“I maintain that.”

“You guys have a cat?” Keith said curiously. Lance lit up.

“Oh yeah! Since it looks like you’ll be staying here for a bit, lemme go get her so I can introduce you two!” He untangled his long limbs and jumped off the couch with the energy of a spring toy, yelling, “Crookshanks!” as he disappeared into the house.

“Crook…shanks?” Keith tested out the unfamiliar name. Pidge gasped, hopping off the stool.

“Don’t tell me you’re one of the heathens who’s never seen or read Harry Potter! Crookshanks! You know, Hermione’s cat?”

There was a pause where Keith just looked confused. 

“Oh Jesus fucking Christ, don’t tell me they’re forgotten about Harry Potter in the future?” Pidge asked, horrified. “Harry Potter is the most influential piece of literature to ever grace this modern hellscape of media. I don’t wanna live in a world where fifty years from now, Harry Potter isn’t considered a fucking classic and showered with literary praise from the goddamn rooftops.”

“I don’t get out much. They might still talk about it, but I wouldn’t know.” Keith said, thinking about the small pile of shitty vintage science fiction novels by his mattress he read when he couldn’t stand to think anymore.

“Here she is, the one, the only, Crookshanks, the world’s fattest, grumpiest, loveliest cat!” Lance announced his return, holding in his arms a huge, fluffy brown cat with a squashed-in face. Crookshanks looked like she wanted to murder all of them slowly and painfully.

“We found her on the streets when she was a kitten and took her in. Pidge insisted on the name because she’s crazy about Harry Potter and made all of us read and watch it. I wanted to name her Monster Truck, Hunk wanted to name her Muffin.” rambled Lance proudly, hoisting Crookshanks up and cradling her on her back like a baby. He leaned down to kiss her pink nose affectionately, which she surprisingly allowed with no resistance. 

“‘Monster Truck?’” Keith questioned.

“Don’t even lie to me and say that’s not the raddest cat name you’ve ever heard. Anyway, delivery for Keith!” Lance said, approaching with the cat in tow. Ignoring Keith’s protests, he grinned and dumped her onto Keith’s lap.

Keith sat stiffly with his hands hovering, unsure of what to do. Crookshanks looked at him and blinked sleepily, still looking cranky.

“Go on, pet her! She’s friendlier than she looks.” Hunk encouraged.

Keith hesitantly lowered his hands and carded his fingers through the soft fur. Immediately, Crookshanks started a rumbling purr and pushed herself toward the touch.

“Huh. You were right. She’s soft.”

“Crookshanks’s got a classic case of resting bitch face, just like you. You’ll get along great.” teased Pidge fondly.

“What’s that?”

“It means your face looks mean even if you’re not trying to make it look mean.” explained Lance, reaching over Hunk to rub at Crookshanks’ ears. His lips were turned up as he met Keith’s eye, in a way that made his stomach clench.

“Okay, that’s accurate.” Keith admitted.

“You don’t look like you’ve ever had a cat before. You more of a dog person?” Hunk asked.

“I don’t think I’m either. I’ve never had a pet.” Keith said, matter-of-fact.

“No way! That’s depressing as shit! Wanna meet Hunk’s hamsters and my guinea pig, too?” Pidge asked excitedly.

“We’re getting sidetracked.” Keith said, looking pointedly at the unfinished whiteboard.

“Oh, yeah.” Hunk said.

“Maybe later. Rover’s the life of the party.” she promised before clearing her throat and returning to the whiteboard.

Pidge uncapped the forgotten marker in her hand and reperched atop the stool, bouncing on her heels and making it wobble slightly.

“Ok, moving on to what we don’t know about this situation. The main thing we don’t know is how Keith managed to travel backwards in time.” Pidge said.

“And we don’t know what did it.” Keith added.

“And we don’t know why it keeps knocking Keith out.” said Lance.

“And we don’t know how time travelling even works.” said Hunk.

“We also don’t know why it happened, or what connects the energy source Keith was investigating to this particular phenomenon.” Pidge said conversationally, writing furiously with her tongue between her teeth. Her handwriting grew messier as she hurried. “We also don’t know if it’s even possible for Keith to return to his own time period if we do find the cause. And we also don’t know what consequences time travel might have on our timeline itself, or if this is going to cause any paradoxes that could shut down reality itself. Or at the very least, we don’t know what kinds of effects this will have on Keith himself.”

Keith gaped at her. He hadn’t thought about any of that. What if he couldn’t return? His gut clenched painfully at the thought. Fuck that, if he went back in time, it had to be a two-way street, right?

Lance and Hunk seemed perturbed, but not surprised, by her grim observations.

“Jeez, Pidge, wanna lighten up a bit?” Lance said, one eyebrow quirked as he rested his head on his long, slender fingers.

“There’s no such thing as optimism in science.” Pidge stated, pushing her glasses up her nose.

“Yeah, but you could have said it nicer or something.” noted Hunk.

“Keith’s no pussy.” Pidge said, looking him in the eye. Keith leaned back as much as he could with Crookshanks still curled up on his lap.

“Wow. Thanks.” Keith said, feeling touched for some goddamn reason and kind of contradicting Pidge’s praise.

“Well, no duh, I could have told you that when the dude pulled a frickin’ knife on me first thing when he woke up.” complained Lance, his thin mouth pursed in remembrance.

“I thought you kidnapped me!”

“Yeah, but you’re still crazy!”

“Shh, you’re disturbing her.” Hunk said, pointing to Crookshanks. Keith immediately stilled his pursuit toward Lance. Pidge rolled her eyes.

“My point is, there are a lot of unknowns. Here’s our first and most likely idea.” She turned and wrote a sentence underneath the two lists. “The energy source Keith was investigating was an alien substance, artifact, specimen, or ship that sent him back in time for some specific, unknown reason, which resulted, either intentional or unintentionally by the aliens, in amnesia and head trauma upon contact.” 

“That sounds pretty legit.” Hunk said. “But why Keith specifically?”

Pidge shrugged. 

“Maybe he knows something, or was sent to find something or someone. We don’t know yet.”

She twirled the marker and scrunched her nose, writing another hypothesis.

“Here’s another along the same lines. The energy source Keith was investigating is an alien artifact that causes accidental time travel when activated via investigation, resulting in unintentional amnesia and head trauma upon contact.”

“That seems more likely. I mean, what’s so special about _him_?” Lance taunted, his tanned cheeks twitching with mirth.

“Lance, anyone ever tell you you’re fucking annoying?” Keith said offhandedly.

“ _You’re_ annoying.”

“Good one, Lance.” Hunk said.

“Guys, shut up. I have another idea. The energy source Keith was investigating was bait put out by aliens themselves, who erased Keith’s memory and sent him back in time to feed off his time energy.” Pidge cut in.

“Wasn’t that a Doctor Who episode?” pointed out Lance as he slouched lazily over the arm of the couch. Keith tried his damnedest not to look at how his shirt was riding up on his hips.

“Maaaaybe.” Pidge said slyly.

“Well, we have the facts and some theories. Now what?” Keith said seriously as he nudged the cat off his lap and stood up.

“Now, we go to bed. Guys, I’m tired, can we get back to this tomorrow?” Hunk whined, stretching his large arms over his head.

“Hunk’s always the first to tap out, he’s a total baby.” Lance needled, poking him in the ribs teasingly.

“Ow! Cut it out!”

“Well, we might have more ideas after we rest a bit. Not that I’m going to sleep anytime soon.” Pidge tossed the marker onto the table and stood back to admire her work on the whiteboard.

“I second that, we can get back to this tomorrow.” Lance said, running one hand through his hair and making it stick up a bit. Keith hated how he still looked attractive like that.

Keith didn’t want to quit now, he needed answers as soon as possible and he didn’t understand how the three could still be so laid-back about this whole situation. He was just about to protest and say so when Lance carelessly lifted his shirt with one hand to scratch at his stomach. Keith’s eyes were glued to the motion and swallowed thickly when Lance’s washboard abs were exposed, just a peek of a colorful tattoo visible on the left side and a dark brown happy trail dusting the skin below his bellybutton.

On second thought. Clearing his head with some rest wasn’t a bad idea.

The three scrounged diligently through a broom closet overflowing with miscellaneous shit to produce an extra quilt, and Lance gifted one of his extra pillows with a smirk and a stupid remark about his boundless generosity again. He took it reluctantly and ignored the way his face felt warm.

_God, what are you, a fucking idiot? It’s just a pillow. You slept in this guy’s bed for a week, stop getting so worked up over it._

“Do you want a shower before you go to bed?” Hunk said, yawning.

“Oh, yeah! You look kinda rough, buddy.” Pidge said.

“You reek, too. And you’re hair's greasy.” Lance added.

“I guess.” Keith conceded.

“You _guess?_ If I didn’t shower for a week, I’d want to _die_ I’d feel so gross.” Lance exclaimed dramatically, placing one hand on his chest. Keith shrugged.  
“I didn’t have running water at my place. I had to shower at the gas station every few days or so.”

Lance looked absolutely horrified and retched loudly. Even Pidge and Hunk looked kinda grossed out.

“Okay, yeah, hell no, you live in this house, you’re respecting my hygiene code. You’re showering once a day, every day from now on.” Lance commanded, grabbing Keith’s wrist and starting toward the bathroom. Keith yanked his arm from Lance’s grip, glaring him down at the unsolicited contact.

“I can walk.”

Lance waved him off, apparently solely invested in Keith’s cleanliness at this point, his thin eyebrows bunched together in determination over stormy blue eyes.

“Then walk towards the frickin’ shower, come on!”

Keith sighed and followed him, where he pulled a spare red towel from the bathroom cupboard and shoved it into his chest.

“The products on the top shelf are off-limits, those are mine and you can’t use them. And yes, I will notice if you do.”

Hunk popped his head in the doorway.

“I can vouch for that. Having your hair super silky and smelling like an ocean breeze ain’t worth it.”

“Fine. Whatever. I don’t care.” Keith said.

“Toss your clothes outside the door and I’ll get you some spare pajamas.”

“It’s fine. You don’t need to, I can just wear these.”

“No, it’s most certainly _not_ fine! Do it or I’m barging in and getting them for you!” Lance said indignantly.

“Jesus, alright, fine, I will.” Keith grumbled.

Once the door closed and he was alone, he sighed deeply and rubbed at his eyes. He turned to the mirror. His hair was pretty greasy, but he hadn’t really noticed. It was always kind of greasy. And he had worse bedhead than normal, probably because he slept for a week straight.

Keith got to work stripping and tossed his clothes through the cracked door, setting his knife on the counter. He turned on the water as hot as it would go, then winced when he stepped in and burned himself. Once he got it adjusted to just the right level of searing heat, he sighed blissfully in pleasure. Must be nice having these creature comforts in your house 24/7.

He normally used cheap bar soap for everything, but now he got to use bottles of fragrant body wash that left his skin feeling soft rather than chalky. Basking in the luxury, he scrubbed himself head to toe rather than doing a quick lather like normal, watching all kinds of desert sand encrusted on his body rinse down the drain. He shampooed his hair vigorously, unsurprised to see a large amount of dirt washing down the drain from his hair, too. Black hair tended to hide a lot.

He got out reluctantly and rubbed himself dry with the borrowed towel before wrapping it around his waist and cracking open the door to look for the clean clothes he was promised. There was nothing there.

Keith opened the door with damp, tangled bangs dripping water over his eyes, pissed at what was probably a stupid joke played by Lance.

“Lance!” he called out. There was no response. He wandered down to Lance’s room, where the door was closed. He hammered on it, yelling, “Lance, come on, give me back my clothes if you’re not gonna give me spare-”

“Jeez, I’m coming! Wha-” Whatever Lance was going to say next died in his throat as he took in the pale form of Keith, damp and naked except for a towel around his hips.

“As I was saying, give me my clothes back if you were lying about the pajamas.” Keith said, pissed off and shivering. Lance was staring at his chest, and he looked down instinctively to see what he was looking at. Nothing but his normal porcelain flesh, covered in goosebumps from the cold.

“Uh, I was, I was getting you pajamas.” Lance tore his gaze away and hurried back into his room. “Sorry, I just, just didn’t think you’d be so quick.” 

He grabbed some clothes off his bed and tossed them to Keith, who fumbled to catch them one-handed in the surprise, nearly dropping his towel. Lance was staring at him again, absent-mindedly running a thumb along his lower lip.

“Thanks, I guess.” Keith sighed.

“Oh, yeah, you’re welcome.” Lance responded, sounding weirdly distant.

Keith made to turn away when Lance called out to him.

“Yo, Keith.”

“What?”

“You’re, like, more built than I thought you’d be, huh?”

Lance had an exaggerated cheeky smirk on his lips, eyes hooded and raking him over appreciatively. Keith suddenly felt far, far warmer, and he blushed hard and fast with no way to stop it. He turned and hurried away with a muttered “Fuck off” before Lance could see it and make fun of him, because he knew how easily blush showed on his pale skin.

He still heard laughing coming from Lance’s bedroom as he shut and locked the bathroom door. God, what a fucking tool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a longer chapter for you due to the longer wait! 
> 
> I know the obvious choice would be to name their cat Rover, but I couldn't resist putting in a Harry Potter reference, since you already know Pidge would be a lifelong fan. I put Rover as Pidge's guinea pig in compromise. Also, just for future reference, everyone in this fic is exactly four years older than in canon, so here's everyone's age:
> 
> Keith: 22  
> Lance:21  
> Pidge: 19  
> Hunk: 21  
> Shiro: 29


End file.
